Where Will You Go?
by muggleborn.dragon.ryder
Summary: The burden of being chief weighs heavily on Hiccup's young shoulders, and he struggles to cope with the tragic circumstances that brought him here. Soon, he finds he can't carry on anymore. And when the secrets he keeps are visible on his body, where will he go? Post-HTTYD2. Rated T for grief, depression, suicidal thoughts and self-injury.
1. Chapter 1

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: Well, this was based off 'Where Will You Go' by Evanescence. Such a good song :3 and and I know I ended it on an angsty note, instead of a happy one, but I needed to, okay. All my other HTTYD2 one shots ended happily, except, Splintered, I think. But you know that the story ends happily anyway, so it doesn't really matter. And Protects His Own was kinda bittersweet, I guess.**

**Anyway, there is self-injury in this! If this makes you uncomfortable, or could trigger you please spare yourself the hurt and do not read this. **

**Also, this is going to sound odd, but I wrote this because I read a story where Hiccup self-injured, only it featured a verryyyy different plotline, and I realized I never had written one where he self-injured, and I wanted to try. Also, I might write a second part, just to see Hiccup get his happy ending. I'm a sucker like that. **

* * *

It was in one of those rare times when Toothless was away, off frolicking with Stormfly and the others, for once just doing ordinary dragon things instead of hanging around a boring human like me all day. And, to be honest, I was kind of glad he was gone. Not because I didn't want to see him, or because I didn't want to be around him. I just…didn't think it would be a very good idea for him to see me right now.

I knew if he saw this, if he saw me looking upset, he would guess that I had begun thinking about my father, and he would nudge my hand comfortingly, but he would never understand that it wasn't really him I blamed anymore. You see, I'd been thinking about it a lot and I'd come to realize that I was the one who should be holding the guilt on my shoulders. If I hadn't gone charging off in search of Drago Bludvist in the first place, none of this would have happened, and Dad would still be here. I wouldn't have had to make a speech as I watched his funeral barge leave me behind. He'd still be there, solidly and dependably beside me, maybe giving me that stern look still because he wanted me to be chief, but I think he would have left me alone about it after a bit.

Speaking of being a chief… I sighed as I saw the people outside the forge, all lined up. _"A chief's first duty is to his people." _I wasn't doing a very good job of being chieftain, and everybody could tell. When I passed people by in the streets, they didn't sound admiring or awed when they spoke to me. They just sounded wearily sympathetic and pitying, because oh, that poor boy lost his father and isn't he just so strong, holding up under such circumstances…

I clenched my hand into a fist, feeling the nails digging deep into my palm, but it wasn't good enough. I needed more. "I think I left my designs for this saddle in the backroom, Gobber," I called to him before ducking behind the curtain separating my private room from the rest of the forge. "I'll be right back."

Gobber happily accepted the excuse, but then, I knew he would. Over the past few months, I had kind of become an expert on telling people lies, telling them that I would be right back, that I just had to duck away for a quick second. You see, I used to confine it to my bedroom, and tell myself I was never, ever allowed to do it outside of that tiny room. But the urge grew stronger and stronger, until I wasn't sure how I had gone even a couple hours without it.

I pulled the curtain shut behind me, and within seconds, I was quietly dismantling my armor, undoing buckle after buckle, cursing myself and asking Odin why I had had to make this stupid thing so complex…I had never thought I'd need to get it off so quickly.

I finally freed my torso, which was all I really needed, and then I rolled up the sleeve of my tunic underneath, bending down beneath my old work desk and pulling out the knife. Its blade was dark, so dark I could barely see my own reflection. But I saw my eyes. And for a split second, I hesitated. And then I pressed the metal into my skin.

I made the first cut slowly, almost savoring the pain. It hurt, but it cleared my head, made it easier to breathe. And I would take a bit of physical pain over the awful alternative. I did the second a bit quicker, because I felt that Gobber might start wondering where I was if I didn't get back soon, and I'd already taken enough time working my way out of the armor, but two cuts weren't nearly enough to drive it away completely. A third and fourth followed before I heard the blacksmith's voice. I was standing in the middle of the room with my eyes closed, knife in one hand, feeling warm blood trickling down my wrist and cold metal pressing into the skin of my arm.

But the moment Gobber cried, "Lad!" my eyes snapped open, watching in horror as the curtain began to rustle.

_Oh, Thor, no, _I pleaded silently with the god of thunder, freezing in place as I stared down at the knife. What would this look like to Gobber? He would question it, he would probably demand to know why I was doing it, and then I would be in an even bigger mess than before…

Just thinking of all the horrible possibilities made me feel like giving myself a quick fifth one, but all I had time to do was drop the knife on the ground and yank down my sleeve. I didn't want Gobber questioning why I was trying frantically to pull on my armor, so I just kicked the knife behind me, hopefully out of sight.

"Lad, your notes are right here—why don't you have your armor on?" Gobber stopped, looking rather curiously at me. He was right to question this – I rarely ever took my armor off anymore.

"Um…" I was suddenly and intensely aware of the knife at my feet. "I got too hot, so I decided to take it off."

"Oh. Well, as I was saying, your notes are—wait, you're bleeding!" He pointed to my arm and took several steps closer.

I backed quickly away, walking until I crashed into the wall. Sure enough, I could see a bright red stain appearing on my sleeve, the cuts I had just made bleeding through. "No, I think it's just dried from the battle, I haven't really washed my clothes, Gobber, no!"

Gobber had grabbed my hand, completely ignoring my protests, and was now rolling up the sleeve. For a second, he stared down at the scars in abject horror; next second, he was whispering. "What have you done?"

"Stop it! Stop it!" I yelled, trying vainly to yank my arm away, but Gobber held it fast.

"Why on earth would you do this, Hiccup?" he demanded, voice steadily gaining volume, coloring with anger. He locked his burning gaze on me.

"None of your goddamn business!" I howled angrily. "Stop it, let me go!"

"This is my goddamn business!"

"No, it isn't! Stop it, Gobber, and let me go!"

"I'm telling your mother!"

"No, you're not!"

"Well, I'm not letting you do this anymore!"

"Letting me? I'm doing what I want, I don't need your permission, or Mom's!"

"Oh, tough love! We're telling her anyway." And then, he held the hand not pinning me to the wall out in front of him, as if expecting me to give him something.

"What?" I snapped.

"I want your knife."

"Don't have it."

"Where is it?"

"None of your goddamn—

"_I want that knife, Hiccup_."

I looked away. "You're standing on it."

He grabbed it up from the ground, pocketing it.

"That's mine!"

"And now, it's not. C'mon, Hiccup. We're telling your mother."

* * *

"Hiccup? Show her your arm."

I studied the table.

"Hiccup, what's going on?" Mom seemed upset and slightly alarmed, looking from me to Gobber and back again.

"Your son has something to tell you. Or show you, more like. So go on, Hiccup, show her your arm."

I rolled my eyes, stretching it out in front of her on the table.

"Turn it over," Gobber ordered.

I gritted my teeth, reluctantly rolling it over so the scars and new cuts showed instead.

Mom gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. "Hiccup…" Then she raised a horrified gaze to me, but I looked down at the tabletop, pretending to have found a very interesting wood chip as I talked.

"Okay, great, you all know, _can I go now_?"

"No," Gobber snapped. "I think you and your mother have some things to work out."

"Hiccup…" she leaned forward across the table towards me, her green eyes dark. "Why would you do something like this…?" She ran a finger over the scars gingerly before her gaze returned to me questioningly.

I blew out a long breath and shrugged.

"So, you just did it for no reason?" Gobber spat, seething.

Mom sent him a sharp look. "Hiccup…?"

"I miss him," I mumbled, taking my hand away and studying the scars. _Just get me through this and get me back upstairs. Please, I have another knife up there._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Where Will You Go?**_

**A/N: Ugh, okay, so I made this into a chapter story because I got a surprising amount of requests. I don't know who suggested Gobber...doing what he does in this chapter, but whoever you are, thanks for the idea. It gave me a clue as to what could happen next. There'll be more chapters after this one.**

* * *

Mom and Gobber, they didn't talk _to_ me. They talked _at_ me. The whole time she cleaned the cut, Mom talked at me. And it was mostly stupid stuff, like, "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"or "Hiccup, honestly, thank Thor Gobber found you when he did!"and "Do you bandage these cuts properly?"

"Yes," I snapped a little at that last question. Honestly, how stupid do you have to be? You cut, you clean, you bandage. It's as simple as that.

"Something tells me you don't appreciate how serious the situation is," Gobber put in.

I glared at him. "It's no big deal, so stop acting like it is!"

"Whether you like it or not, Hiccup, self-harm—

I flinched, then shifted irritably.

"What?" Gobber demanded, stopping short to look at me.

"I don't like that word," I mumbled.

"What? _Self-harm_?" He emphasized it, in a rather hard voice.

I snapped. "It's not self-harm!"

"Grabbing a knife and taking it your own skin is self-harm!" Gobber yelled as Mom put the last bandage on and stood, putting a gentle hand on the blacksmith's chest, then mine.

"Calm down, both of you," she said in her soft accent. "Gobber, if Hiccup doesn't like something, you should not be throwing it in his face. You're acting like a child. And Hiccup…" And then she turned to me, her eyes speaking for her. I found I couldn't meet her gaze.

"Promise me you'll stop," she whispered, her hand traveling down my chest and giving my hand a small squeeze.

"Promises don't mean anything," I mumbled, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. I pretended to have found a fascinating crack in the wall as I spoke. "I need to get upstairs."

Mom's shoulders visibly slumped, and I hated myself for making things so hard on her. Things were bad enough right now, after everything that had happened without adding me in.

"You're not going up there, young man," Gobber snapped, folding his arms resolutely across his chest. "Not until we've gotten every last knife, anyway."

"Seriously?!" My voice came out much louder than I'd meant it to. "No! You're crossing the line—

"You broke our trust," Gobber intoned sternly.

I snorted. "You can't be serious! Broke _your_ trust? How did I break _your_ trust when—?"

"Maybe by cutting your own stupid ass!"

"That's enough, Gobber!" Mom glared fiercely at the blacksmith.

"Actually, it's remarkably difficult to cut your own ass," I remarked.

"You'd know, wouldn't you?" Gobber said venomously.

"No, I wouldn't know," I snapped. "I've never tried to cut there!"

"Wouldn't surprise me if you had!"

"Gobber!"

"Either way, I want your knives!"

"Don't have any more!"

"Oh, we'll see about that." And Gobber stomped out of the room, up the wooden stairs and into my bedroom, my safe haven.

"Gobber!" I screamed, frustrated beyond belief. "Get out of my room!"

"No!" He hollered back bravely, so I followed him up.

When I reached the landing and looked inside my bedroom, I saw Gobber running his hands along the floor beneath my bed. Anger licked my insides. "_Get out of there_!"

Gobber glared up at me. "If you weren't so stupid, I wouldn't be having to do this!"

"You get out of there right now!" I screamed. "I'm telling you, get out!" I rushed into the room, trying to rip his hands away, but I wasn't strong enough and he moved easily from the bed to the closet. There was nothing in my closet, either, and nothing in my top two bedside table drawers.

The fiery anger burned stronger than ever when he took my scissors and pocketed them.

"Those are mine!" I yelled, and he yanked out three small knives from the bottom drawer as well.

"Why do you have so many?" he asked incredulously, as Mom joined us on the landing.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked softly. "Yelling at him isn't going to do any good, Gobber. You're just making it worse."

"Well, if we don't stop him, your son's going to kill himself."

Rage flared in my stomach. "I'm _not_ suicidal!"

"Then stop acting like it!"

"I'm not acting like it!"

"Oh, so, _this_ is just a fluke?" Gobber demanded harshly, making a slashing motion across his own wrist.

My cheeks flushed. "Stop it!"

He glared at me for a moment.

"Hiccup. Gobber. Both of you. I need both of you to stop." Mom finally interrupted us, stepping carefully in between us. "Yelling at him doesn't do any good, Gobber, I said this already. You're only shaming him."

"I'm not ashamed."

"I would be, if I was in your shoe," Gobber bit out.

"Thank Thor you're not, then."

"Both of you," Mom's voice turned a little harder, a little colder. "I need both of you to please act your age. And Gobber – try to remember that Hiccup is the child here, not you."

"I'm not a child," I interrupted.

"Then stop acting like one," Gobber glowered.

"Gobber." If looks could kill, the blacksmith wouldn't have been standing there, judging by Mom's fierce expression. "We need to help Hiccup, not yell at him."

"I don't need help," I snapped.

"Then why are you self-injuring?" Gobber snapped right back.

I shifted uncomfortably again. I didn't like that word, either. "Doesn't mean I need help."

"Hiccup…" Mom took my hand, and led me down to the bed. I collapsed onto the wooden structure and she knelt in front of it, our intertwined hands in my lap. "Why would you do something like this?" She brushed my hair out of my eyes.

I stared down at our hands, unable to look at her. Gobber's fierceness, all his yelling…that I could understand. But I couldn't take Mom's gentle tone, because it was hurting me worse than anything Gobber could have said. Without words, she was telling me that she was disappointed in me, that she had expected better of me. I shrugged. "I…I told you at the table…I miss him. I miss him, and…and it's just…I'm supposed to be chief. It's not the Viking thing to talk things out, in case you hadn't noticed. It's better for everyone if I just—

"_No_." Mom shook her head vehemently. "No, Hiccup, don't think like that, not for a second. You can talk to me, or Gobber, or Toothless, or Astrid. You have so many people here who care about you, why didn't you just talk to them when you started grieving?"

"I'm not like you, Mom," I whispered. "I'm not like you, I'm not good with words. It's easier to just…" I trailed off, unable to state exactly what I was thinking.

She ran a gentle finger over the cuts and scars. "How long have you been doing this?"

"I…well…does it matter?"

Her eyes grew sad. "Hiccup…"

I shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know. A couple days after…you know, everything that happened."

"Oh." She put a hand to her mouth, squeezing mine tightly. "Hiccup, you need to stop. Promise me you'll stop."

I met her eyes, and I hesitated for a split second, wondering if I could make the promise, give up my only form of relief since everything that had happened. "I…I…" I knew I could have just pretended to be really into stopping and then continuing in secret, but the thing was, I didn't know if I could lie like that to my mom. I didn't know if she had one of those built-in bullshit detectors that other moms had, but it was more my stupid conscience that wouldn't let me lie to her. Gobber, I could've lied to. I could have fibbed to the moon and back, considering how angry I was with him at the moment.

But my mom? I couldn't promise her this.

I was already planning my next cut, imagining where it would be.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: Honestly, guys, I'm just sorta farting around with this fic right now. I'm trying to think of a new direction to take it in. One of my readers suggested that I do it where he cuts too deeply and faints from blood loss and the whole village finds out and much angst ensues, and I really like the idea, but I kinda feel like the story should end once the whole village knows, and I'm kind of attached to this story. I don't want to end it too soon, so I'm basically just gonna make Hiccup have random angst and cut for a couple more chapters until I decide I can end it XD and if you guys have any ideas for where this fic could go, don't hesitate to drop me a review! Even if I don't always use the ideas, because some don't spark my creative interest, I love reading them! And just drop me a review period because I love getting them :3 I'm greedy like that, and reviews let me know that people like my work. **

* * *

Mom and Gobber left me in my room, stepping outside to discuss something. They left the door open, as if they thought that I was going to start it up again just because they were out of the room. I wasn't stupid enough to do it when someone was so nearby twice, especially not in the same day. They kept their voices low, and I found I couldn't really care what they were saying, although I did hear a couple fragmented words.

"…Astrid?"

"…No, I can't see why…"

"You don't understand…"

"I see that, but…"

I lay down, my head hanging off one side of the bed, my legs on the other side, feet – or foot – still touching the floor as I gazed up at the ceiling, running through the events of the day in my mind. I knew it was wrong, I knew that I should have thought of Mom, and how hard things were on her before thinking of myself, but all I wanted to do was shut them out of my room. Never let them back in. Cut until I had no more skin left to cut, make myself bleed until I had no more blood left. My mind flitted briefly to why they would mention Astrid when this didn't involve her, and my blood froze in my veins. Were they thinking of telling her? No, that wasn't fair!

I knew it was a childish thought, but I couldn't help thinking it. It just wasn't fair that they would even think of telling Astrid when this didn't even involve her whatsoever. She didn't need to know this. She would look at me differently if she knew. Would she be like Gobber and accuse me, or be like Mom, patient and understanding? Both seemed equally bad. I didn't want Astrid to know, period. The thought of Toothless knowing was even worse. He would be inspecting every cut and chewing me out in his dragon tongue, trying to lick my face as if grooming me would make it better, comforting and lecturing and loving all in the same moment. He would be doing all this before I could even say overprotective.

I sighed deeply as I thought of it, intensely grateful that Mom and Gobber were away from me, even for a moment. If I couldn't cut, I just wanted to go away somewhere, escape the confines of Berk somehow. But the problem was, the fastest way to escape was on Toothless, and he would surely smell the blood. Not to mention it was always so hard to be around him when I was thinking about my father. I knew it was unfair. I knew it wasn't his fault. I remembered what Mom told me. _"Good dragons, under the control of bad people, do bad things." _

Knowing it wasn't his fault didn't help, not really. It had still happened. I was working on what I called realizing that, and Mom called it forgiveness. I wasn't sure I liked that, though. I didn't like using the word forgiveness for what I had to do with Toothless. It made it sound like we had had a fight or something, and I hated when we fought, even though it was rare.

I sighed again as I came sharply back to the present, listening to the voices whispering just outside my door.

"No, we don't need to do that." Mom. She sounded firm and decisive. "It will only anger and shame him further. It'll make him feel like we don't trust him."

"Well, I don't trust him." Gobber still sounded a little angry, but notably calmer than he had been in the forge. "I mean, he was cutting himself, Valka! _Cutting himself_! How can anybody be expected to trust him again?"

"Gobber, listen," she dropped her voice a little lower, and I scooted unconsciously forward on my bed, tilting my head to one side to hear better. "If we make him feel like we still trust him, it'll be better for him. The one thing we need to avoid is making him ashamed or angry with us. Anger and shame are a bad combination, and they'll just lead to more cutting."

"No, they won't," Gobber sounded satisfied with himself now. "I got every knife out of his room and work area. If he wants to cut, he has to get a knife from the forge, and I'm always there."

_No, you didn't get every knife, _I thought triumphantly to myself, remembering where I'd hidden the last one. When I'd hidden it the first time, I'd hidden it because I was terrified that Toothless would see it, and guess why I had it. I wasn't completely sure how much Toothless knew about human matters like cutting, but I didn't want to risk it. Now, I was intensely grateful that I'd hidden it somewhere away from Gobber's eyes.

The tiniest hint of guilt pricked at my conscience when I thought of what Mom would say if she knew I still had one more knife, and didn't say a word about it. She wanted me to still feel trusted. My guilt worsened, and I slowly withdrew the knife from where I had hidden it, within my pillowcase, carefully eased inside, the fabric folded over an extra time to conceal the blade. I pulled it out, dancing it over my wrist. I had no intention of doing it, I just…wanted to feel the metal against my skin, I guess.

The feeling assured me that I was doing the right thing by not saying anything. If telling Mom I still had one more knife would get her to treat me differently again, then I definitely wasn't telling. I placed the knife carefully back within the pillowcase, folding the fabric over again to hide it and keep it in place. It was lucky that I did this when I did, because the door, which had been drifting shut as Mom and Gobber kept pulling it closed, trying to make sure that I didn't overhear, entered the room once again.

I closed my hand into a fist, wishing I'd given myself just one more, quick cut. Seeing the anger in Gobber's eyes and the disappointment in Mom's seemed ten times harder now.

Mom came right over and sat beside me on the bed again, thankfully at a safe distance away from the pillow, and she put her hand on mine. "Are you alright?"

I nodded before rising to my feet. "I, um…I need to get the rest of my armor from the forge, remember?" I started for the door, but Gobber added, "I'll come with." I tossed him a glare.

"Just so you know, I'm not going there to try and kill myself," I snapped. "I'm just going there to pick up my armor."

"And another knife?" he demanded coolly.

"I thought you knew me better than that," I snapped. "When I make a promise, I keep it, no matter what."

"I thought I knew you better, too! I thought I knew you better than to do something as stupid as this!"

"You don't understand!" My anger flared again. My nerves were already frayed from how stressful and upsetting the day had been, and now I was exploding over everything, even though I was normally a pretty even-tempered person. "People only call it stupid when they don't understand it!" I ripped open the door again, stalking as fast as I could down the stairs, praying that Gobber wouldn't follow. I wasn't going to the forge to cut; that would just be proving him right, and that was the last thing I needed.

Thankfully, Gobber wasn't the one I heard walking behind me on the stairs; it was Mom. I gave her a quick sideways glance. "Is this how it's going to be, then? Running a simple errand is going to end in me taking an escort everywhere I go?"

"No," Mom replied with admirable dignity. "I'm coming with you just in case you need to talk. I'm not here to stop you from cutting, although I certainly do hope that my presence discourages you from doing that."

I bit my lip, feeling a little bad for lashing out at her. Gobber's reaction wasn't her fault. "Sorry," I mumbled my apology as quietly as I could, reaching the front door and opening it.

"It's alright." Mom didn't even look at me when she spoke her forgiveness. "Honestly, Gobber's reaction was foolish. I'm sorry that he treated you like that. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

I dropped my eyes to the floor, but I couldn't think of a response, so I just stayed silent as I stepped out. I blinked a little, the sunlight startlingly bright after the darkness of my bedroom. Lately, I had begun to block my view of the sky with an old quilt. I didn't like looking at the outside world when I cut. I felt like it was an action that deserved only absolute darkness. I pushed myself onward, reminding myself that every step I took was one step closer to my next cut. I just had to make it through this.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: SURPRISE**

**Yes, this is the surprise. Updating all of my eighteen in-progress fics at once. It was pretty crazy, but I did it, and it's here, and good day to you all! I had tons of fun doing this, so I hope you guys have tons of fun reading this!**

**"WHEREEEEE WILL YOU GOOOO**

**WITH NO ONE LEFT TO SAVE YOU FROM YOURSELFFFFF" **

**You know whyyyy I'm singing that? :D BECAUSE I HAVE A NEW IDEA FOR THIS STORY AND OH MY GOSH SO ANGSTY EEEEEEEEEEEEEE erm, sorry to poor Hiccup, though xD**

**And also, I'm thinking I might start naming chapters. So this one is christened 'The Loneliest Years'. Yep. I never said the titles would be smart - I just said that they would be titled. And, also, I understand that it's not canon, but I really hope I made at least one person lose their head by making Hiccup take off his clothes xD**

* * *

To her credit, Mom didn't act like she was watching me when we went to get my armor. She pretended to inspect the weapons bedecking the walls and the dragon saddles set up for sale, but I knew the truth: I saw her eyes following me when I ducked into the backroom. I found my armor still perched upon the desk, as if nothing had happened to me, as if I had just put down the knife and nothing had interrupted me. I picked up the shirt and began buckling it on again, making sure to set everything just right. I still had one more knife in this backroom but I didn't dare grab it while Mom was in here, too – I half-expected her to pat me down when I walked out.

Scowling at the thought, I stepped out of the backroom just as Astrid, Toothless and Stormfly entered the forge, the two dragons squeezing themselves in.

"Finally!" Astrid huffed as she made her own way into the building. "I was looking everywhere for you! Hung the Horrible was looking for you, he kept insisting that Rhonda the Random stole his yak, and of course she keeps threatening to run him through with a pitchfork if he accuses her again…"

I groaned and dropped into the nearest seat with a sigh. "I'll be right there."

"Are you alright?" Astrid took the seat next to me and found a piece of my hair, beginning to make yet another braid.

"It's been a long day," I replied with a sigh, gently pushing her away and rising to my feet. "I'd better go see what Hung and Rhonda have to say for themselves – hopefully, I'll be able to work something out."

Toothless came up to me, his green eyes wide and shiny, standing on his hind legs but crouching slightly to fit within the forge's confines. I offered him a smile, but all the same, I tucked my arm carefully behind my back, feeling a tiny pinprick of guilt when I imagined his reaction. Not that he would ever know, of course. It was my goal to never let him know anything like this. I walked to the door, sighing as I considered the newest chiefing problem.

On any other day, a disagreement like this one would have seemed simple to me, and easy to handle; but today, which had already felt like the longest day of my life, I was emotionally exhausted, and I didn't have the energy to deal with anything more than my own problems right then. I sighed, playing with one of the buckles on my armor.

"Hey, you okay?" Astrid appeared to have caught up with me, and rested a hand on the shoulder of my armor, her bangs swept back out of her eyes. I met her gaze for a few moments before looking away again, shrugging off her hand.

"I'm fine," I lied easily, quickening my pace and hoping she would fall behind. "I'm just really tired is all. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Upon hearing this, Toothless fixed me with a stern, almost motherly look and Astrid raised an eyebrow. "Whatever happened to managing your time wisely?" she asked. "You were awake for, I think, five nights in a row in those first few days of being chief and you kept promising you were going to find a way to work everything out…"

"I have been managing my time wisely," I replied defensively, running my fingers through my hair. "It wasn't anything to do with the village, I just honestly couldn't sleep last night. I'll sleep tomorrow, don't worry." I glanced back at the forge, a little anxiously, to see Mom emerging from it, catching sight of me. To my surprise, she left me alone with Toothless, Astrid and Stormfly, heading for the house again instead.

I yawned, putting a hand over my mouth and turning back to speak with Astrid. "I'll be fine, though. I'll get some sleep tonight." But I knew what I'd be doing the instant I reached the safety of my bedroom tonight, and it wasn't sleeping. I glanced down at my arm, now hidden by leather armor and silver buckles, and I clenched my hand into a fist.

* * *

Although I fooled Astrid with my smiles and excuses, although I fooled Snotlout, the twins and Fishlegs, and although I fooled the whole damn village, there was one person whom I could not fool, no matter how hard I tried. Toothless seemed to know that something was wrong with me, but he just couldn't figure out what. He kept nudging me, or cooing consolingly whenever he could, following me around the whole day, even though I tried to tell him to be a dragon and do dragon things. The other dragons probably thought him strange, hanging around a human all day when they preferred their own kind.

But Toothless wouldn't listen; he just kept staring sadly up at me, silently asking what was wrong. I played dumb, pretending I couldn't understand him, even as I crawled into bed much later that night, feeling the exhaustion seeping down into my very bones. It wasn't just emotional anymore, the tiredness; it was physical and mental, as well.

I slowly undid the buckles of my armor, remembering the knife tucked carefully inside my pillow and wishing Toothless wasn't here, so I could grab it out and do what I'd been longing to do all day. The other dragons normally slept in the stables, and I was now wishing that Toothless did so, too. I couldn't ask him to leave, however; he would know for a fact that something was wrong then, if I expressed a desire to be away from even him, and he wouldn't rest until he discovered what it was.

I pulled off the top of my armor, pulling my sleeves back down when they threatened to slip up, but luckily, my dragon noticed nothing; he was curling up on the floor, tucking his wings and tail close to his body as he got comfortable. He then turned his attention to me as I began undressing, slipping off two layers of clothing before getting to the third, the thinnest, and sitting down on the edge of my bed with a heavy sigh.

My father had never shown the strain of running a village, at least not around me. He was ten times the chieftain I would ever be, and I longed to have him with me now, to ask him if I was doing alright, if I was dealing with things the way he would have dealt with them.

Thinking of my father only increased my desire to cut, and as I knew I couldn't do that tonight, I lay down upon the bed and pulled the thin brown blanket up to my waist, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling. I pretended that I didn't see Toothless staring at me, still trying to figure out what was wrong and growing increasingly frustrated when he couldn't. And my mother's words kept repeating themselves in my head, over and over. _"Promise me, Hiccup…promise me you'll stop…" _

But if I stopped, what would I do? My excuse that I wasn't good with words was just that – an excuse. I _was_ good with words. I knew how to talk to people. But Vikings didn't do feelings. Emotion was not supposed to be a word in our vocabulary. And besides that, how could I so calmly discuss what had happened with Toothless, the very person who had made it happen?

I knew that he couldn't help it, of course, but every time he was near when I thought about my father, he just made everything worse. And it felt horrible and lonely to blame my best friend for something that had happened, to know that the only person in the world who understood me had been the one to take so much away from me at the same time. I knew that it wasn't really his fault, that it had been the alpha and Drago controlling him, and that he hadn't done it of his own free will, but I still found that I isolated myself from Toothless more and more frequently nowadays. I knew that my subtle quests for aloneness upset him, but I couldn't help it – I needed to be alone sometimes. I needed to be away from him, where I could think of my father and remember my father and accept that it wasn't Toothless' fault, but it just became harder and harder with each passing day.

And Astrid? Astrid was a close confidante of mine, yes, but I could never imagine talking with her about my father. I would have to address the years before if I wanted to truly talk about him. The years before Toothless, the years before Astrid liked me, the years before I had friends, the years before Dad loved me. And those years, the loneliest years, were ones that I didn't particularly want to think about.

My mom was definitely not on the list of people I could talk to, considering that to her, he wasn't just my father – he was her husband, too, and they had been separated for twenty years. When she had finally convinced herself to once again become part of a family, he had been snatched away from her just like that. And now she was left with me, just me. And I was left with only one half of a family again. But this time, the other half was never coming back.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: I don't even know why I like this chapter. It's boring and uneventful, and any sign of a plot only comes in at the very end, but it's a start, eh? Plus also, I'm really liking this story and I just don't know why. I really like the angst Hiccup is currently having xD plus also, you know what I just realized? Eret! I forgot Eret! Although I do imagine that he'd hang around Astrid more than Hiccup, as it was her dragon who showed him the true meaning of loyalty. And what should this chapter be called? 'Hiccup angsts'? **

* * *

My dreams that night weren't exactly restful. I firstly dreamed of Gobber, yelling at me about the cutting, but halfway through, he transformed into Dad. And Dad just looked so disappointed, I could hardly stand it.

"Please," I gasped, tears pouring from my eyes down my cheeks. "Please, Dad, I just want you to come back, and then I'll stop, but I…I want you here…"

At these words, Dad vanished from my dream again, replaced instantly by Gobber, but I screamed at him to come back, sobbing and clawing at the air to bring him back.

I awoke with a start, the word 'daddy' dying on my lips, my eyes and cheeks wet. Reaching up and touching my face revealed what I already knew: I had been crying in my sleep.

Now that I was awake, I simply lay back in the bed, listening to the thunder and rain outside, the awful howling racket, and the lightning illuminating the sky outside my window in short bursts. I felt the tears building in my eyes, the urge to cut rousing me from my position. I glanced at Toothless, fast asleep on the little patch of wood serving as his bed. I slowly eased the knife out from my pillowcase, rolling up my sleeve.

Would Toothless smell the blood? He never had before, but then, the blood had been drying all the times before. I hesitated, the tip of my knife barely touching my skin. Coming to a decision, I rose from my spot on the bed, slipped the knife in my sleeve and crept quietly out onto the landing.

From my place at the top of the stairs, I could see the darkened, lighting-lit living room, the room I had gazed down upon every morning of my life for twenty years. But without the knowledge that my father was asleep in the bedroom downstairs, the house didn't feel like mine. The creaking of the stairs was no longer friendly and familiar; the sound was now alien to my ears. I reached the bottom of the stairs, sped across the living room and reached the front door, slipping outside gratefully, drawing in deep breaths of rain-soaked air.

There was nowhere in the village for me to really go at this hour; judging by the sky alone – and this was difficult to do, as it was storming – I was guessing it was about four o' clock in the morning, and I couldn't very well wake Toothless and go flying at this time of night. I mean, I could, but the village was already quietly wondering if what had happened to my father had driven me mad, and I didn't want to encourage that.

And, for the first time in my life, I felt like I was dealing with something that wasn't just bigger than myself, but bigger than Toothless, so big even he couldn't help me through it. I pulled the knife out of my sleeve again, remembering the look on Mom's face, her shock and horror at what I was doing…

Tears pooled in my eyes again, but I impatiently brushed them away. I glanced uneasily at the door, firmly shut behind me. "Sorry, Mom," I whispered, knowing that my soft words wouldn't penetrate the rain or thunder or wood separating us. I raised the knife and dragged it across my skin, my breathing constricting oddly as I watched the blood glimmer and shine in the half-light of the storm. I knew I should have stood up, stepped back in the house, bandaged the cut and gone back to sleep, but I let the blood drip slowly from my wrist, letting the tears fall for the first time in a long time. The instant everything with Drago had been settled and I felt like I could take a spare moment, I had collapsed in my bedroom and cried, part of me pushing Toothless away and another part pulling him closer, and yet another part uncertain as to what to do.

This was the first time I had cried that hard since, staring out at the rain and thinking of my dad, tears pouring down my cheeks almost as quickly as the heavy rain dripping off the side of the house. I made another incision in my wrist, watching in fascination as the skin opened up, releasing blood and pain, the only things I wanted to see or feel right then. I closed my eyes, almost glorying in the feeling of the newest cuts on my wrists, the feeling of agony and open skin.

I remembered Gobber, yelling at me in the forge today over a stupid bit of blood soaking through my sleeve, and I gave myself a third cut. I remembered my mom's look of betrayal and disappointment, and I did it a fourth time, because I knew that there was only one true way to feel better, one way to escape all the pain, and that was to cause more and more.

As the sky began to slowly lighten, I slipped the knife back in my sleeve and rose to my feet, opening the front door and walking carefully back inside. Both Mom and Toothless normally woke early, and Toothless would be eager for a morning flight when he was fully awake: I had to bandage the cuts and get my armor on quickly, before these new cuts were noticed by anyone.

I went to the kitchen first, rummaging in the cabinets looking for the bandages before remembering I'd hidden a few upstairs, for when I started cutting and I really needed them. Grateful for my foresight, I was about to pull my hand out of the cabinet and head for the stairs when three loud crashes made me jump and hit my hand on the wooden cabinet top. I yanked my hand out, scattering dishes everywhere.

"Shit," I mumbled, mostly to myself as I held my bruised left hand with my right, bolting into the sitting room, clear across it and opening up the door. I thought I heard the sounds of Mom and Toothless stirring as I left but I didn't bother to check – I just ran onward until I reached the crowd gathering at the docks and I saw the reason for the commotion: a huge ship was sailing towards our island, the black Bog-Burglar sail flapping in the ocean wind.

I felt like I could have kicked myself for forgetting – the Bog-Burglars' five-year peace-treaty renewal. I had meant to start preparing for their arrival three days ago, but it had slipped my mind because of everything else that had been going on since.

"It's just the Bog-Burglars," I murmured to myself, relieved. "They're friendly, they won't be…" and then I stopped cold, staring at the sail again, thinking over my own words. Five years. They hadn't been here in five years.

And the last time they had been here…

My eyes slid to the white sail just beneath the black one: the white one featured a bright red dragon, impaled upon the point of a sword, and my throat went suddenly dry. Villagers were turning around to stare at me, silently demanding my order. The ship was still a ways out, and they might not have spotted the dragons yet, but that could change at any moment.

I pulled at my sleeve to give myself something to focus on as I considered the best course of action. Hide the dragons? Show them the dragons? I looked up at Hookfang, perched on the rooftop of Snotlout's house. Stormfly and Astrid, standing right next to me. Astrid was staring at me, too, but she didn't look expectant, just rather worried. She opened her mouth to say something, but I shook my head as Drago jumped to the forefront of my mind.

My dad would never have shown the Bog-Burglars the dragons, and it would be madness if I did so, especially after what had happened the last time Vikings from another tribe got wind of dragons on Berk. I scanned the crowd with my eyes, looking for Toothless maybe, or Cloudjumper, but wherever those two were, they were not here.

My first instinct was to hide the dragons. To bundle them all up in the cove and hide out with them, leave the responsibility of the village to Astrid, maybe, or somebody who was infinitely more capable than I was. I had been drawing my own blood for the past half hour, and this did not inspire any confidence within myself.

"Alright, listen up." My voice was not as commanding as my dad's, and never would be, but it did draw some attention: a lot of the Vikings looked away from the oncoming ship, choosing to focus on me instead. "The Bog-Burglars haven't been here for five years, and a lot has changed for us in that time. Naturally, they're gonna be a little scared by the fact that we've befriended the dragons that we were fighting the last time they saw us. Thing is, we can't hide the dragons. The evidence of their presence here is spread out all over the island of Berk – they're inevitably going to question why we have stables, landing areas, fire prevention, and all-you-can-eat feeding stations." I paused for a moment as I eyed the Vikings staring at me. "Maybe not that last one," I shrugged, and a couple people made noises of offense while quite a few more tittered.

"Problem is, I don't think they'd react well to me just shoving Toothless in their faces and saying 'he won't eat you, I promise'. But I am thinking that we should hide the dragons, at least for a short while. Once the usual pleasantries and greetings have been exchanged, we'll lead out the dragons, I'll show them Toothless and it'll be okay. Okay?" I looked hopefully around at my village. Nobody seemed to have much confidence in this plan.

Of course they didn't, an unbidden voice in my head whispered. You suggested it, remember?

That voice, that tiny little pinprick of doubt, had left me alone for almost three years – such a long time without it that I'd forgotten exactly how unpleasant it could be, exactly how uncomfortable and embarrassed the words made me. I shifted anxiously from foot to foot as I considered their reactions. It was the only plan I had, and I could tell that some people were just biting their tongues for my sake.

"Okay, then," I pressed on, determined to carry on with the only plan of action I had. "Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: Bertha reminds me of Dagur in this chapter, and Hiccup is a tad quick-tempered. But given what happened to him yesterday, I can forgive him. **

* * *

"Hiccup." Astrid caught up to me as I was trying to shepherd the dragons into the cove, a few of the villagers tagging along to help.

"What's up?" I frowned at her for a second before my attention was recaptured by a Nightmare and a Timberjack arguing over who got the better spot.

By the time the dragon fight was sorted out and every dragon had found a comfortable spot, I'd lost Astrid in the crowd, but gained a new problem: for some reason, Toothless appeared nervous, shaky and unwilling to leave my side. Whenever we had to part, he was normally pretty good at keeping the other dragons calm while waiting for me to come back. This time, he seemed jumpy and frightened, in the same way he had after Drago Bludvist and the battle of the alphas, and…

I closed my eyes as memories threatened to resurface, shoving them down. Toothless was no wimp, and he had never been scared of the enemy dragons, or even Drago himself. It had taken me a long time to realize that he was scared of me. Not scared of me, precisely, or what I could do to him. More scared that I would withhold forgiveness, or hold a grudge against him for what he had done.

But it wouldn't make any sense for him to revert back to that. I had told him a million times over that I forgave him; there was no room for grudges in a friendship as deep and sincere as ours.

In the days following the battle, when he'd feared my hatred, he had seemed slightly wary of being around me, but this was different. Now he seemed unwilling to leave me alone.

I gave him a reassuring pat on the nose just before I turned and left the cove. "I'll be back for you soon. Just keep the other dragons out of fights until then, okay?" Thor knew that Hookfang needed all the help he could get in that category.

Toothless made a low sound in his throat, like he was protesting, but Astrid returned again, distracting me. She was holding her axe in one hand, and walking oddly, like at any moment she might suddenly have to go into battle stance and fight for her life. "Hiccup, are you alright? You're bleeding."

"Am I?" I glanced down only once, to check the cut still soaking through my sleeve, and mentally swore myself out. Damn my habits of brooding after every cut. I needed to bandage them and get my armor on as soon as possible, but the Bog-Burglars were already almost here; I wouldn't have time. Besides, even if I did, what exactly was I going to say?

"_Sorry, folks, but your chief is a mentally unstable basket case who slices open his own skin whenever he can't deal with things. He was doing it just this morning and now he's gotta go patch himself up. Try not to start a war with the other tribe while I'm gone!" _

Yeah. No thank you.

I shrugged it off, rolling my shoulders back and pulling my sleeves even farther down, pressing them into my wrists, hoping they'd effectively soak up the blood. I'd just have to meet with the chief, and hope for the best.

I was pretty much prepared when Bertha jumped out of the boat; I'd do what my dad always did, walk forward in that powerful way of his, extend my hand, ask them how the trip was, engage in a few minutes' small talk and eventually lead them around to the Great Hall for the signing of the peace treaty.

Bertha looked around, her hands on her hips as I walked towards her. Her tiny daughter, Camicazi, had grown a bit since I'd last seen her, but her mischievous smile was still the same. I gave her a wave of recognition before extending my hand for Bertha's.

The chieftainess looked me coolly up and down. "Where's Stoick?"

I felt my hand drop slightly, and my mouth went dry. I couldn't make it move. It would've been easy, really, for anyone but me to have just told them the truth. But the words stuck in my throat. "Um…uh…" I started fidgeting with my sleeve, pulling my hand fully back down, by my side, and struggling just to spit out the words. I'd have given anything for ten minutes with a knife. I'd have twin cuts on both wrists, but maybe I'd be able to speak again when I was through.

I heard somebody behind me clearing their throat loudly and when I turned, I saw Gobber walking forward, reaching for Bertha's shoulder.

I bit down on my lip, so hard I tasted blood. It tasted good. The pain cleared my head and I stepped forward slightly, as if daring Gobber to come get me away from this. I was supposed to be the chief. I couldn't let other people baby me, or take care of my duties while I was here. "He's dead."

Bertha frowned, and I could tell in her eyes that she truly was upset. "I'm sorry to hear that. He was a good man. May the gods honor him. His son too?"

I blinked, feeling rather stupid suddenly and wishing I had just backed down and let Gobber take care of things. "No…I'm his son. Remember?"

"Hiccup?" Bertha looked aghast. "Oh…you've…grown. Quite a bit."

I tried not to look as embarrassed as I felt, although I'm pretty sure my cheeks were about as red as a Monstrous Nightmare's scales as it was. "Yeah, um…I…yeah." I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly.

Bertha continued to stare at me, with ill-disguised and unflattering surprise. I mean, sure, I'd started out little, but was it really so unbelievable for me to be as tall as I was now?

"So." I clasped my hands together, instantly regretting this movement as my sleeves scratched at my wrists, aggravating the fresh cuts. "The peace treaty, then? Should we get on with that?"

That conversation counted as small talk, right? Granted, it hadn't gone like I'd wanted it to, but then, what did?

"Oh…yes," Bertha seemed to unfreeze herself long enough to follow me to the Great Hall. It was a little disconcerting, actually, to know that every eye in the village was fixed on me. I mean, really. I knew it was my first time dealing with another tribe as chief, but I was different now. I wasn't going to screw this up, not the way I normally did. Even I could keep what everyone called my "destructive nature" down for a day.

When we arrived at the Great Hall, I was relieved to find that the dragons who normally rested upon the ceiling or ate the food were gone, having followed the others to the cove, I hoped. I opened the double doors for Bertha, as was custom, and she followed me into the gloom.

Whoever had last left the Hall had put out the torches, and nobody else had lit them, so for a second, we were standing in total darkness until I found a torch and lit it, hanging it in the bracket. I turned back to Bertha, leading her to the center table, where the treaty was signed, and then remembered that I didn't even have the treaty out. Stammering out an excuse, I dashed to the back of the Hall, where the little piece of paper that was causing me so much stress was lying innocently in the middle of the table. I picked it up, but I didn't walk back to the table at once.

Instead, I leaned against the wooden bench, letting loose a long, low sigh. I was making a mess of things, and it was back to feeling like the fourteen-year-old kid who screwed everything up.

Why couldn't I do this right? It was just the Bog-Burglars, after all. They were close friends of ours, if you could consider people from another tribe friends. They had fought alongside us in several wars, and they were our trusted allies. Yet I was still nervous.

I was twenty years old, and I had left the shy, stammering kid behind long ago, yet he seemed to be taking my place again. I felt like I was shrinking under the village's gaze as I walked back to the table clutching the parchment.

"Good, good." Bertha nodded happily, looking first at my hands and then down at the table. "Where's the dragon's blood?"

"The…the what?" My heart skipped a beat.

"The dragon's blood," she responded. "It is tradition for the Bog-Burglars and the Hooligans to renew their treaty using dragon's blood. It is our custom."

I winced. "Um…don't you think that's sort of barbaric?"

Camicazi gave me a stony look. "We're barbarians."

"You've already discontinued the use of dragon's blood ink?" Bertha shook her head in disappointment. "Pity."

I set the peace treaty carefully down on the table, tugging the pot of squid ink out of my holster and setting it down on the table beside the paper. "We'll just use regular ink this time – we're a little short on dragon's blood."

Bertha drew herself up to her full height, her breast heaving in outrage. "Absolutely not!"

"What?"

"I cannot trust you to keep the peace if we do not sign in blood! That is how our ancestors did it, and that shall be how I do it."

I could feel my temper beginning to rise, which was odd for me. The dragons weren't even being threatened yet, and I was already ready to invite the Bog-Burglars to leave. "We've been allies – _friends!_ – for years! Do you really think I'm going to change that, and start a war with another island, and a better chief, just because we're not signing in the preferred brand of _ink_?"

Bertha seemed to calm, looking a bit thoughtful. I regarded her curiously for a second, and she did the same of me until her expression relaxed.

"Very well," she said softly, but she never took her steely gaze away from mine. "We will use your…weak ink."

I nodded at her, picking up the charcoal stick. I had won the battle…this time.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: I'm really sorry that I haven't been posting on this story as much lately, but I started doing Nano Wrimo, you see, and that's been eating up a lot of my time. And then I got HTTYD2 on DVD :D and I have no excuse for that xD I just watched it twice in a row on the day I got it xD Hey, do you guys mind leaving me a couple reviews? I really enjoy getting them :D and I'm really surprised at the support this story has gotten. I never knew people would like it this much xD**

* * *

The peace treaty was in front of Bertha, and the charcoal stick was in her hand. All she had to do was sign her name, and another five years was off my mind. But she just kept staring down at the paper for a second, evidently thinking hard and then…

"Hiccup, I wonder if we might…have a word?"

"Um…okay," I replied, baffled.

"A private one, I think. In the forest, perhaps?"

"Alright," I nodded. "Alright, c'mon, then. It's back this way." I led her out of the Great Hall, my thoughts buzzing in circles. What could she possibly want to speak to me about that required privacy?

I was almost to the door when Astrid caught me, locking her hand around my wrist. "Hiccup, I don't like this."

Funny, I'd never noticed how much Astrid grabbed my wrists before today, when every touch sent pain racing up my arm. I tried my hardest not to wince. "It'll be fine, Astrid. Go."

She took my chin in her hand for a moment, studying my face.

"I'll handle it, okay? Look, if something goes wrong, just look after yourself."

She sighed. "I will. Just…promise me it won't go wrong."

I nodded before pressing a quick kiss to her lips and following Bertha slowly out the door of the Great Hall and into the forest. She was silent for a few minutes, studying the dirt under our boots. "I'm sorry about Stoick, Hiccup. It must have been a terrible loss for your village."

I blinked to clear my vision of tears, clenching my jaw. Every time his name was mentioned, I had to fight the urge to cry, or cut. "Yes," I nodded slightly. "Thank you for your concern, Bertha." It felt odd to call her by her first name, but as she called me by mine, I guessed that our tribes were friendly enough to be on a first-name basis.

She didn't look up from the dirt, and she didn't keep walking. She slid her hand down to her hip. "You're probably wondering why I called you here, aren't you?"

"A…a bit, yeah," I nodded. "I'm guessing we didn't come here to exchange tales of woe, am I right?"

She smiled, but there was something cold in her gaze. "Right."

The next thing I knew, she had drawn her sword, as quick as a flash, and had the cold metal pressing into my throat, pressing me back against a tree. "Now that we're away from your human army, let's discuss your dragon one, hmm?"

How could she have known about the dragons? It was the best-kept secret we'd ever had. I knew the Vikings in the Archipelago were terrible gossips, but…

"I don't know what you're talking about," I choked, trying in vain to claw her sword away from my throat.

"Don't you try that!" Bertha snapped. "Don't try it, Hiccup – I knew you were hiding something, and then I heard about the dragons, and…" she drew a deep breath through her nose. "You weren't even trying that hard to hide them, were you? I smell them on you. Nadder and Gronckle and Timberjack, you've been around them all."

"B-bertha," I pleaded, "I can explain—

"And you planned to assassinate me the instant I let my guard down!" she bellowed. "Well, I've got news for you – I'm not backing down. You're not gaining my island, no, you're not!"

"Do you think I would be trying this hard to get you to sign the peace treaty if I really did have an army waiting for you?"

"Aha! You admit you've been pushing me closer to that treaty so I'll let my guard slip, aren't you?"

"Uh…no." This brand of reasoning came completely out of nowhere, taking me completely off-guard. I struggled to breathe around the sword at my throat. "Really, Bertha, I'm not planning anything! I wanted you to sign the peace treaty, that's it. I have no interest in starting a war. We are a land of p—

A sudden roar shook the forest, making the trees actually quake where they stood. A furious roar. A roar that I knew well…

And Toothless suddenly burst into our little glade, his green eyes locked on Bertha, looking murderous. The chieftain's breast heaved as she placed a hand on it. "Treachery!" she boomed, pointing at Toothless.

"No!" I pleaded. "No, it's really not what you think, he's just protective of me, see, and he must have smelled danger and fear, maybe, and he just thought…but he's not dangerous, wait, look, no!"

Bertha readied her sword, and Toothless gave a low groan in his throat as he built up a blast.

"Stop!" My yell attracted the attention of only Toothless – Bertha glared at me for a moment before taking off running and ducking through the forest, back towards the docks.

"Wait! Bertha, wait!" I tried to call after her, tripping over rocks and moss, too desperate to catch up to check where I was going. I hit the ground heavily but immediately pushed myself up again, trying in vain to follow her to the docks. "Bertha!"

"I am not stupid!" The chieftain howled, already jumping back into her little boat. "I did not come here alone, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third!"

Warships appeared out of the fog as Bertha spoke. "If you attempt to follow us, we will blast your dragons down with the force of Thor's thunder!"

Villagers who had obviously heard Toothless' roars and our shouts were quickly arriving on the scene, staring in a bit of shock as Bertha kept sailing slowly away from our shores.

"War, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third!" She spat angrily. "I declare war upon you, your tribe, your island, and your armies! No man or woman upon your island shall be spared, no human or dragon! You will regret the day you tried to kill Big-Boobied Bertha!"

Her boat disappeared into the mist, fading slowly away, out of sight. It didn't matter, though – I still couldn't think of a word to say. The other villagers stared, shocked, at the place where she'd disappeared. Nobody seemed quite sure what to make of her declaration. Toothless growled at her softly until she was out of sight, only soothed by my touch.

"So," Gobber said brightly, turning to me, "how did the talk go?"


	8. Chapter 8

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: Omg! Thank you guys for the reviews on the last chapter! :D They really made my day to be honest. And I've written a new chapter, but I'm pretty sure after this, I've only got one other thing planned. Shhh okay chapter 8 seemed so far away from the other side of the fence D: do you realize I'll be at double digits soon? Woo! :D And to think I almost wanted to leave this a one-shot xD **

* * *

When I finally managed to come back to myself – because yes, it felt like I temporarily vacated my body for a few seconds, because nothing about the moment really felt real – I found that I couldn't look anyone in the eye. I turned to face the village, but I couldn't speak or look at them. My throat was dry, and when I peeked up at a few people in the crowd, they all seemed to be glaring accusingly at me.

I swallowed, deciding that the sand at my feet was much more interesting than the expressions of disgust surely on every face.

I wanted to disappear. I know that a lot of people when they suffer some humiliation or something will probably say that, too, but I mean I really meant it, because this wasn't schoolboy embarrassment. I had just made my first mistake ever as chief, or at least, my first big mistake, the one that everyone would remember. And that felt really bad.

Well, actually, I didn't want to disappear. I more like just wanted to dig a hole, crawl into it and never come out. But that wouldn't be very chief-like. And I also really wanted a knife so I could bleed out my troubles for a couple seconds, but when I thought about, this wasn't terribly chief-esque, either, so I clasped my hands together and readied myself to make an inspiring speech.

"Okay, gang," I tried to start it off with these words, but my vocal chords felt tight and strangled, and it came out weaker than I meant it to. Nobody gave any sign of having heard me, but most of them were glaring at me anyway, so I guess it didn't matter. I swallowed and tried again.

"This will…I will…it will…" I scratched the back of my neck uncomfortably as my words slid into silence again. I had turned into the bumbling teenager I'd left behind, right before my very own eyes again. And worse still than all of that, only three weeks after our last war, I'd just gotten my tribe involved in another one, and I gazed miserably down at my clasped hands. "Bertha's normally a reasonable woman," I started. I knew it was a weak start, but I really didn't have anything else to go on. This was the best I could do.

"Bertha's normally a reasonable women, and she's generally pretty easy to get along with. My guess is that, once her anger blows over, she'll realize that we meant her no harm. But for her to really believe that, and trust us enough to ever visit our island again, she needs an explanation of what she saw today."

"And what exactly did she see today, Hiccup?" Mulch demanded from somewhere near the front.

I flushed. "When we reached the forest, she revealed that she'd known all along about the dragons – I don't know what she was planning to do with me, kill me, I guess – and Toothless smelled the danger and ran from the cove to where we were. This just sent Bertha over the edge." I shrugged when I finished my story and caught Astrid's eye in the crowd. She looked just as confused as I was.

Fishlegs voiced what everyone was thinking. "But how could she have found out about the dragons?"

"The only hint she gave me was that she said I smelled like them – the dragons, I mean." I sighed, running my fingers through my hair as the villagers began to murmur to themselves.

"But like I said," I interrupted their chatter to hopefully inject some positive news into the conversation, "Bertha's a reasonable woman, and I'm sure I can talk her down. I'm going to write her a letter explaining everything, and this will all blow over. I promise you, I'll fix this."

I remembered saying something similar when my dad tried to force us into lockdown on Berk, just after hearing Drago Bludvist's name. I winced, pushing away the thoughts of how badly that endeavor went. I couldn't keep comparing every situation with that one. Bertha was a lot different from Drago, and she would never act the way he did. It was just that sometimes she didn't always think before she acted, just like me. But that was something I could understand, something I could help. I could help her tribe, and stop this war before it even started. If I just…didn't do what I'd done with Drago.

I closed my eyes as the crowd began to disperse, some still muttering to themselves, others looking satisfied, still others angry.

I drew a breath and Astrid approached me, one of the only few still left. "Hiccup," she took my hand, "it's going to be okay." She brushed my bangs out of my eyes.

Normally, Astrid's touch was one of the few things that soothed me in a way that nothing else could, and made it actually possible for me to believe her words. But today, I felt a flash of anger – not with her, but with myself. I was supposed to be the chief, and she was the one reassuring me. That could not work. "I know, Astrid," I replied, and I meant to make myself sound convincing, but really I think that I just sounded sort of tired. "I know."

But I didn't, not really. Because ever since my father had died, nothing had been alright for me. And I couldn't help but feel that nothing would ever be alright for me, ever again.

* * *

You know what they don't tell you about being a Viking chief? You'd think it's all just charging into battle and swinging your axe and making impressive speeches and giving awesome battle cries, but no. It's not. Sometimes, the job of being a chief isn't about running out onto the battlefield in a blaze of glory. It's staying up until an ungodly hour reading paperwork, and sorting stupid things into piles, and running through all the mistakes you've made in your head that day.

I flipped over yet another sheet, massaging my temples with two fingers. Why did everything have to be so hard? And I still hadn't even gotten around to writing that letter of explanation to Bertha – my main concern was finishing all this work before sunrise, and then settling a few feuds in the village. But I couldn't help it – I just wanted to sleep. I knew I wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, wouldn't even be able to crawl into bed, but I'd been having so many horrific nightmares lately about what had happened and I'd wake up with my heart pounding so often that not having to fall asleep felt almost like a treat for two seconds. And then I realized it wasn't. I was so tired that pretty much all I could think about was my bed. I shook myself, forcing myself into wakefulness again, and tried to train my eyes back on the page. Toothless was curled up by my chair of course, but he was being so quiet that I easily forgot he was there and I had the feeling that he'd fallen asleep long before.

I flipped the sheet I was holding over, too, and sighed when I saw how many there still were to go. For Vikings who didn't particularly enjoy writing, these people sure did write a lot of complaints in to the chief. I picked up the next one, scanning it at a rapid rate to see if it was even worth reading, or worth settling.

No, it wasn't, I thought as I read all about how his neighbor kept tipping his yaks, but I knew it was just the late hour talking when I read that. I stifled a yawn and kept reading, reminding myself of something my father had told me:

"_No job is too small when it comes to serving your people." _

Clearly, Berk shared the same opinion, because these complaints were probably some of the stupidest things I'd ever read. I closed my eyes to give them a brief rest but the white of the page against the black runes, resting my head on the pile of papers for a second. It was so thick that they easily pillowed my head. I meant to sit up and keep reading, and make it through the whole pile, but before I knew it, I was slipping into sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Where Will You Go? _**

**A/N: I am back. At last. I took forever, yeah, I know. xP Well, this chapter was hard to write! I knew I wanted to continue where the last one left off, but I wasn't sure how. So this was born. It might be amazing, it might be awful. All in all, I think it's alright. Anyway, thank you for all the reviews! :D Please leave some more xD **

* * *

I didn't want to wake up.

Despite the fact that bright morning sunlight was pouring onto the table in front of me, and I could hear quiet voices in another room, I wasn't quite ready to get up yet. I was warm and comfortable here, with my head pillowed by an enormous stack of papers, listening to my dragon's breathing and the clink of mugs being passed around in the next room, and…

Wait. Papers? I groggily lifted my head, jolted suddenly awake when I realized I had fallen asleep at the table, and remembered why. I hadn't even gotten a third of the work in front of me done last night, and I still had feuds to settle in the village, like the one between Hung the Horrible and Rhonda the Random…

A voice cut through my thoughts, quiet and helpless. "I just don't know what to do."

Despite the stress building in my chest like a physical weight or pressure, I paused, almost unable to believe that my mother sounded like that. It wasn't like her to not know what to do; even though I hadn't grown up with her, it felt like she knew exactly how to fix everything, how to make everything better. Even at twenty, I thought this about her.

I heard more clinks, possibly as she stirred whatever was in her mug, and then Gobber replied slowly. "I…I don't think I helped with that." He sounded embarrassed and ashamed, and I couldn't figure out why.

"No." My mother's voice grew colder, but stronger. "No, I don't think you did."

I leaned back a little in my chair, cocking my head to hear better as Mom went on. "I just…I never thought it'd be like this. I thought I'd always have Stoick to help whenever I needed to know what to do with him…"

My heart ached at hearing my father's name, and tears stung my eyes. Him. That must have been me. She didn't know what to do about me, about…about… My eyes fell on my bandaged wrists, a few scars still in the act of forming.

Toothless gave a dragon yawn as he slowly pushed himself into wakefulness, too. That was odd; he was normally awake before me, running ninety miles an hour trying to get me out the door and up in the sky before I was even really awake. He had become decidedly less enthusiastic about our morning flights after I started trying to fly on my own, but he put up with it, for my sake, I guess.

I glanced down at my wrists again, feeling as helpless as Mom sounded, and guilty, too. I was putting all this pressure on her, and she'd lost her husband just a few weeks ago, fought a war, fought two battles because of the peace she'd tried so hard to protect… Shame burned in my throat like fire as Toothless slowly dragged himself up and over to me, giving me a good morning nuzzle on the cheek.

It was the only thing that could draw a genuine smile out of me when such thoughts were plaguing my mind, and I reached up to scratch his neck. But even though I was smiling at him now, I subtly pulled my sleeves down over my wrists. Toothless could _not_ see that.

I realized that the voices in the next room had dropped suddenly, and quickly figured out what that meant. They must have heard Toothless, or seen him, and gathered that he would soon wake me. I pushed myself out of my chair, pushing the stack of papers closer to the middle of the table as I did so. I'd tackle the stack later tonight, whenever I got a chance. And of course, I had to write that letter to Bertha.

The smile disappeared from my face as I remembered. I was doing an absolutely horrible job of being chief. I'd gotten my island involved in a war just three weeks after our last one. All that "land of peace" talk…the village probably hated me right now.

I ran my fingers through my hair, separating the last braid Astrid had made, a tiny little thing lightly tickling the back of my neck. I shoved it aside, probably ruining her work, and walked into the next room, both determined to show my face in the village and determined not to look at Mom or Gobber, determined not to even look up until I was safely out of the house.

"Good morning." My mother's quiet voice put an end to the pretending that I couldn't see them. I considered snapping my head up and acting like I'd just noticed them, but instead I just took my time. Why bother, right?

"G'morning," I mumbled, running a hand along my forehead as I spoke. I was already getting a pounding headache, and I'd only been up for ten minutes.

My mom stirred whatever was in her mug with a soft clinking noise, and I expected her to say more, but she didn't. I guess that's what made her so easy to live with, though; she didn't talk your ear off, and she didn't try to make you talk, either. It was such a far cry from Dad, the way he used to get all awkward and attempt to make small talk, blundering on for a few minutes about this or that before simply giving up, and letting silence claim us. The thought of my dad made my throat burn again.

I opened the door before Gobber could decide to try and step in and extend the conversation, holding it open just long enough for Toothless to dart out after me. I suppose I could have tried to be polite to Gobber, but the man _ransacked my room yesterday. _There are just lines you don't cross, and that is definitely one of them.

I let the door shut again behind us and started slowly walking down the streets, keeping my head down to avoid looking at other people and risking meeting their gazes. All the determination from ten seconds ago was gone.

Toothless gave a small moan, rubbing his head against my hand, as if he sensed my feelings. Which he probably did. My dragon could read me like a book most days.

I offered him a little smile, trying to be cheerful for him. What with the knowledge that I was dragging my mom down with the cutting, I didn't feel like doing it to anyone else today.

And maybe it was my imagination, but I felt like people were looking at me as I walked the street. And unlike before, they weren't looking at me with admiration or awe – they were looking at me as I had been looked at in the lonely years, the ones where people thought I was nothing. The years where I _was _practically nothing.

I swallowed, my fingers itching to hold a knife, but I beat the urge back. I was already a complete failure as a chief and as a son – the least I could do was wait until the end of the day.

So, with a sigh, I headed for Hung the Horrible's house.

* * *

By the end of the day, I was exhausted but pleased. I had managed to settle Hung and Rhonda's feud by finding the missing yak – it appeared the twins had stolen it, and were just up to their usual tricks – and several other quarrels had also come to a miraculous end. I still had a ton of work to do, but after writing the letter to Bertha and setting it aside to start on the stack again, I felt I'd at least done a few things to be proud of already.

And instead of attempting to struggle in solitude, I surprised myself by having a nice night in the Great Hall, sitting at one of the smaller back tables and seriously considering taking Hoark up on his offers of mead when he struck up a conversation with me. Anything that would make me feel better right now sounded like a good idea to me. Even though I'd gotten work done, I was tired, and it didn't make the weird feeling in my chest ease.

Of course, I knew the one thing that would make me feel better, the only surefire way but…I glanced at Toothless as guilt settled in. I couldn't tell him to stay here while I went back to the house and gave myself a few cuts. I was normally so easygoing about whether he followed me or not that he often did, unless he was playing with Stormfly and the other dragons. And though lately he had started spending more time with Cloudjumper, and Mom was sitting across from me while the two dragons conversed, I knew he'd probably get up to follow me. Or…would he?

I glanced from the papers to him again, shuffling them around noisily as I considered the prospect. Maybe if I just told everyone that I had to dart back to my house to get something, and shot off into my room, grabbed the knife and gave myself a few quick slashes…?

And really, would it be so bad if I did that? I always felt better after I did it. Mom would never have to know. Toothless and Gobber and Astrid and everyone, no one would ever find out. After such a long day, I felt that I needed a knife to get me through the rest of it. I pushed my chair back, making up my mind, mumbled some excuse to Hoark, stumbling badly over my words, and I ended up outside, in the cool night air, standing on the steps and watching my breath come out in a misty puff. The stars tonight were especially prominent with no moon, and for a second I hesitated there, my head cocked, listening for the sound of Toothless' footsteps. He hadn't even noticed I was gone, which left me to make the choice.

I could have turned around and gone back inside, surrounded myself with my village and the people I cared about, skimming paperwork as Toothless and Cloudjumper played on the floor, and Gobber's words became steadily more slurred and Astrid sat beside me to put another braid in my hair, probably. I could have turned around. And yet…I didn't.

I ran into the street, eager to get there and back again as quickly as possible, hopefully before Mom or Gobber or Toothless noticed my absence. Because if they did, they might suspect what was going on, or Toothless would get concerned and follow me, and what would I say if he caught me slicing open my own skin?

The instant I was in the door, I was racing upstairs, undoing my armor and rolling up my sleeves, grabbing the knife from the pillowcase and running it across my skin the instant it was in my fingers. As the blood slowly trickled away, it felt like my problems were doing the same. I hadn't noticed the feeling of pressure in my chest since this morning, and suddenly it was gone. I slumped onto my bed, watching the blood shining on my wrist where it lay in droplets, and then I did it again. A second cut. A third. A fourth. A fifth. Not too many that I'd lose count, not too deep that I'd sever something important. I didn't want to die; I just wanted the pain to stop for a little while.

But suddenly I considered what it would be like to die. I'm sure everyone's considered that before, and I had, too, but it seemed more real to me now, that I was going to die someday and that there might not be anything wrong with speeding up the process. I shook my head, trying to shake off those thoughts. I wouldn't do it. I hadn't survived so long, come so far, only to die now.

I couldn't have. I didn't want to die.

And I would repeat that as often as I needed to, as often as it took to make everyone – especially Gobber – know it was true.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Where Will You Go? _**

**A/N: Guys, I'm so so so so so sorry that I freaking blew off this fic for like months, okay, I'm really sorry, I never meant to do that, I meant to get back to this sooner, I'm so sorry. I'm trash. **

* * *

"Need any help?"

"Huh?" I blinked blurry, tired eyes up at the speaker, willing them to come into focus. They didn't.

"I said," and here they sat down in the chair beside me, and I realized it was Mom as she brushed the hair out of my eyes, "do you need any help?"

I wiped at my cheek tiredly, my hair falling right back into place the instant Mom let go of it, like even my limp locks were too tired to keep going. Stifling a yawn behind my hand, I struggled to move my tongue, to force my exhausted lips to form the words. "If you want." It was a conscious effort to remind myself that my eyes needed to stay open.

I guess I must have looked really pathetic, because there was no way Mom would have given me a small half-smile and said, "I do want," if I hadn't. There was no way anyone would willingly stay up and do such mind-numbing work, especially at an hour like this. I split the stack in half, giving one to Mom and turning back to mine, continuing to work on it. Gods, but it was blurring in front of my eyes still, and I was so tired, and I could barely keep my eyes open…I let my lids fall closed for an instant, leaning into Mom, her warmth, feeling my head fall upon her shoulder, but unable to summon the energy to get back up.

Mom's quick, thin fingers found my hair, slowly, gently undoing the tangles, separating it strand by strand, her clear green eyes never leaving the page in front of her. I knew I should sit back up and resume work, because I was a chief, and I really didn't have time to sleep if I was going to get this all done by sunrise, and I shouldn't need anybody at all, but I didn't. I just kept sitting there, my head tilted onto her shoulder, drawing unconsciously closer to the comforting touch of her fingers. I could hear, as if from a very long way, Toothless' soft, discontented growls from the floor of the Great Hall, where he'd curled up by my chair hours ago.

I wish that I'd understood why he was growling then, or at least tried to determine the cause of it. But I didn't. I hardly cared. I was hardly aware that he was growling at all, I was so tired. The last things I was aware of were the sounds of paper rustling as Mom flipped the page over, and her fingers undoing the final snag.

* * *

This was becoming far too frequent for my liking, I thought groggily as I awoke to papers shifting and rustling beneath my head. Oddly enough, though I had just woken up, I didn't feel rested at all; just more exhausted than ever. I buried myself deeper in the papers, feeling a yawn stretching my lips, wrinkling my nose slightly when a sharp corner from one of the papers poked me on the forehead. I forced myself to sit up, opening my eyes, facing the day…and then I immediately shut them again, sunlight bringing sudden tears to my eyes from how bright it was. There was lots of it, too, I noted, still half-asleep. There must be a lot of open windows.

I could faintly hear people talking and laughing, doors opening and shutting, dragons sneezing and snarling and growling and roaring, everyone getting ready to face another day. They sounded a hell of a lot readier than I was.

There was a lot I needed to get done today…that letter to Bertha…and Phlegma the Fierce told me she'd noticed our stock of food for the winter was dwindling faster than it should be…probably the twins, I thought, up to their usual antics. I'd need to take them aside and talk to them about it, though, all the same. With the rainy season quickly ending, we just couldn't afford that kind of trouble from them anymore. And one of the stables badly needed fixing. There was a hole in the roof where a Monstrous Nightmare slept. Relatively small, but when it was a wet night, Thor, was he in a temper.

I squeezed my eyes tighter shut, wishing I could hide from my duties as easily as I could hide from the village in here. I didn't want to be a chief today. I didn't want to be a chief, ever, but today, I mean, I really didn't feel like doing anything. Except maybe sitting in here, avoiding everyone until the midday meal. Maybe I could hand it off to Astrid for twenty-four hours or so. Yeah, right. Like she'd accept. I could already hear her now, hounding me about my "duty to this island" and "the responsibilities you have" and "being chief is really such an honor, Hiccup!"

Reluctantly, I sat up, crinkling the papers beneath me. Papers…Mom…the events of last night came rushing back, and it took all my strength not to let my head fall back down again. I'd intended to get all this work done last night, just work the whole night through so maybe I'd be able to rest for more than two hours at a time, and without feeling guilty about it. But that wasn't going to be an option. I picked up a piece of paper lying beside the stack, not on it. I must have shoved it off in my sleep, I thought, but upon closer examination, I realized my name was on it. Probably a letter to the chief, I thought, but I gave it a second glance anyway, realizing instead it was from Mom.

_Hiccup, _it began,

_I thought about waking you so you could walk home, but you looked like you needed the sleep (I'm sure you can agree.) I finished the paperwork last night, about five o' clock in the morning, so you don't need to worry about it. Here's the abridged version._

What followed was a list of twenty or so requests from different villagers, asking about a new well (one of ours had run dry last week) or another stable, closer to their home, because they didn't like walking their dragon to the main ones when it got dark. Somebody else needed a fence repaired.

It was suddenly hard to swallow as I read it, Mom's swooping, graceful handwriting blurring in front of my eyes – though this time for a very different reason than exhaustion. Mom had taken this job on herself, worked until almost dawn, as I'd been planning to do, just to ensure that I wouldn't have to do it. I didn't know if she'd already be in the village by now – I didn't know what time it was now – but wherever she was, I would stop by and thank her whenever I could.

Standing up from the table, tucking the note into my armor – I guess I must have fallen asleep in it again – I walked to the door of the Great Hall. When I heard Toothless following me, I pretended it didn't bother me, that I couldn't feel the sudden tensing in my shoulders.

When I emerged into the cool air, wind immediately hitting my face and completely destroying Mom's attempts at untangling it.

The sky was a clear, perfect blue and I could see the white puffs of cloud drifting slowly across it. For the first time in months, the sun was shedding brilliant golden rays across the village, probably its last appearance until the thawing season. Probably the sky would be a dull and dreary gray for the next few months or so, and I wouldn't be seeing the sun for a long time. Today would have been the perfect day for flying. If I could have. I looked wistfully up at the beautiful blue sky, the longing within me so strong, it was like a physical ache in my chest. I wanted nothing more than to fly.

And maybe a few minutes away from all of this would ease the building pressure in my chest, rising higher and higher until it felt like I was choking over the suffocating weight of pretending I could lead anyone or anything. If I had enough time, I would be up there in the clouds right now, just me and Toothless, going higher and farther and faster than anybody else ever did. We never worried about danger in the sky. Because that was where we belonged, in the sky. Things could hurt us on the ground, but up there, we were completely untouchable.

If only I could fly today. If only for a few minutes. It would still be good enough for me.

_A knife could ease the pressure just as well. _

But I didn't have time for knives. And I definitely didn't have time for flying. Guilt gnawed at me as I glanced over at Toothless – he wasn't looking at the sky, like I was, but either way I could tell he really wanted to fly, too. No matter what I did, I was making somebody unhappy. And it wasn't fair that Toothless suffered because I was too stupid, too much of a failure to even be a chief.

Several people waved at me as I slowly descended the steps of the Great Hall, and I waved carefully back. I wondered if I'd been there when everybody had started arriving for breakfast, and just slept right through it. That sounded just like me. The supposedly great chief caught snoozing on his paperwork.

I came down the last few steps, heading straight for the stables. I needed that roof fixed before the first snowfall, so it was top priority. Even so, I took one last glance at the sky before forcing myself onward. The village mattered more.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: Oh, gosh, I'm so glad I got to this point xD I've had the 'Hiccup breaks his arm thing' in my head for awhile, but only recently did everything come together enough for me to write him actually doing it, and to place him in a situation where he could believably get hurt. Because this is Hiccup and he's a little accident prone disaster area x3 Even at twenty, he could walk into an empty room and emerge with twenty bruises, I'll bet xD **

* * *

"Hiccup!"

When Astrid's voice hit my ears, I immediately whirled around, slamming suddenly into several people as I went, and thus receiving many grunts of annoyance and a few dirty looks. I hoped my smile would be apology enough as I turned to face Astrid, her hand finding my shoulder. I imagined I could feel the heat from her fingers, even through my shoulder pads, and, though she'd touched me in much more intimate ways before, I found myself intensely aware of this one.

"What's up, Astrid?" I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shove the stubborn strands back out of my eyes.

Behind her, Stormfly and Toothless experienced a joyful reunion and immediately began leaping about, obviously playing some sort of game.

Her gaze traveled from my hand in my hair to my face. "Are…you okay?"

I frowned, slowly removing my hand from my head. "I'm fine." _Maybe not fine, but as close as I'm going to get right now, and she doesn't need to know all that. _"Why?"

"You look…" her blue eyes flicked up and down my body for a second, my armor wrinkled, my hair all messed up and falling in my eyes despite how much I tried to keep it back, my hand still halfway to my head, hovering in the air. It was obvious she was trying to find a nicer way to phrase it, but I guess she just gave up, because what came out next was, "…Horrible."

I rolled my eyes. "Thank you for summing that up."

"No, Hiccup, I'm serious," she persisted, grabbing my arm before I could try to lower it again.

"I was up pretty late last night," I explained with a shrug. And this was perfectly true.

"You look sick," she pressed, drawing closer to me, until I could feel her other hand sliding from my shoulder to my thigh.

"I'm fine." I shook my head. "I've just got to go fix those stables."

"Wait, hang on," she forestalled me, tightening her grip on my wrist. Luckily, it wasn't the wrist I'd been working on the night before, but it was still tender from the last time I'd cut there. "I was trying to tell you that Gobber's looking for you."

"Gobber?" I repeated, mystified. "Why?"

My mind rapidly conjured up another scene like the one that had occurred a few days ago: Gobber entering my room and searching the whole place, taking every knife, every sharp item he could find, anything that could pose a threat, anything that could open my skin. Boiling hot anger flared inside me, and I decided that, whatever he wanted to speak with me about, it wouldn't be anything good. And I most likely would not be showing up for that.

"I heard him saying something about weapons going missing," Astrid shrugged, reaching up to fiddle with her braid as she talked, "but I didn't get the full story. From the way it sounded, I think it was only a couple small knives. I don't know why he was taking the matter to you – I guess he just thought it'd be better if you knew."

My stomach clenched in sudden, white-hot rage. "I'll have to talk to him about that later," I said, and it was a struggle to keep my voice even. "And let him know I have _no idea _who could have taken them." I was a beat too late in realizing Astrid would be confused as to why I was so angry about it, but I ignored this, making to shove past her. "I've got to go fix that stable."

"Do you mind telling me what's wrong, first?"

I couldn't look at her when I spoke; I was afraid she would see the truth in my eyes, or at the very least, the seething anger filling up my chest. "Nothing's wrong. I'll just have to find the culprit later." I tugged at my sleeve as I spoke. "I'm sure it's probably harmless – maybe one of the kids is stealing them to practice."

"Most likely," Astrid confirmed, leaning against the side of the nearest building. "Can I do anything to help? I'm not expected anywhere for another hour, at least, and I could come with you to work on the stable, if you like."

"Actually…" My eyes drifted to Toothless and Stormfly, still cantering about, still playing, their tails flicking in their delight. Stormfly's tail, spiky and whole, ready to kill at the slightest sign of danger, the merest word from her rider. Toothless' tail, smooth and thick and mismatched, one fin moving about freely, showing his happiness, the other staying perfectly still, immobile.

I turned back to Astrid. "There is something you can do."

She nodded, looking actually pleased at the prospect. "Yeah?"

"Do you think you could fly Toothless for a bit? Just a few quick laps around the island, maybe? He hasn't gotten to fly, really fly for a few days, I've been really busy – do you think you could do that for me?"

Something in Astrid's gaze softened noticeably, and she released my wrist. "Yeah. Of course."

"Thanks," I offered her a quick, tight little smile. There used to be a time when I rarely quit smiling, because I had everything to smile about, and no worries or responsibilities to weigh me down. But now it took enormous effort to smile. It took everything in me not to let it drop off my face.

"Toothless! C'mon!"

When my dragon came obediently over at her call, it was hard not to feel a stinging twinge not unlike jealousy. That first morning flight of the day with Toothless – that was our time, no one else's. Nobody should be able to take that away from us. That was our special time together.

But that was stupid, I told myself, shaking my head. Not to mention selfish. I was too busy to fly him, and it wasn't like I needed to fly frequently, the way a dragon did.

Mom said that if a dragon didn't get to fly for at least an hour every few days, they tended to become so unhappy that they merely wasted away on the ground.

I couldn't neglect Toothless' needs for the good of the village – that was unthinkable. But I also couldn't blow off my chief duties just to satisfy my own desire for flight. My dragon and the village – they both had to come first. That was the way it should be.

But that didn't stop the empty, hollow feeling in my gut when I watched Astrid mounting my dragon, fixing her feet in the pedals, extending his tail fin a few times to make sure it was working properly. When they took off into the sky, I felt lonelier than ever.

* * *

New nail.

I plucked the loosest one from my mouth, fixing it into its place before beginning to hammer away again with the stone tool, imagining for one satisfying instant that it was Gobber's face. Who did he think he was? It could have been anyone nicking knives from the forge, anyone. And he chose to blame_ me_.

It could have been the twins, up to their usual tricks – a theory I was leaning heavily toward.

And it could have easily been a kid on Berk stealing them, hoping to learn fighting skills prematurely.

Main point? It wasn't me.

Enough was enough, I decided, choosing a new nail from between my teeth. I didn't have to go down there and defend my integrity to Gobber, of all people. Let him think I was stealing them. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of getting all worked up over false accusations. Let him think whatever he wanted.

I picked up the hammer again, returning to my task, pounding away so fiercely I was afraid I might bend the nail. I eased up a little, just in case that did happen.

I slid a little closer to the edge of the roof, letting the hammer slide down alongside me as I balanced precariously for a minute on the extreme edge. Yet when I looked down at the drop beneath me, I felt no jolt in my stomach, no fear. After spending five years with a dragon, safe in the knowledge that he will always catch you, high places sort of lose something after a while. But I still couldn't tear my gaze away from the ground. I wondered what would happen if I fell from here…how badly it would hurt…

When my knees threatened to give out from under me and let me find out for myself, I slowly slid back into my spot. I shouldn't be thinking like that. I should be focusing on this roof. I looked around for the hammer, already reaching for a new nail from the collection in my mouth, only to find that somehow, the stone hammer had drifted away from me, about ten feet over, balanced on the dragonhead overhang, having caught one of the teeth before falling off completely.

_Perfect. _

At first I tried to stand, but it was hard to get a grip with my prosthetic, so I had to scoot forward on my knees, feeling my way forward with my hands to check if it was sturdy enough to hold my weight. I was nearly to the dragon's head when I heard a voice.

"Hiccup! Hey, Hiccup!"

I lifted my head to see, and I got a brief glimpse of Snotlout before my prosthetic lost grip completely and I plummeted to the ground. I had barely half a second to breathe before I landed, my right arm giving a sickening crack beneath me.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Where Will You Go? **_

**A/N: Hi, everyone! *waves enthusiastically* This is my newest chapter! I really have had that second scene in my head for so long...which, by the way, in reference to my portrayal of Valka - I don't think she's a very good person, or a good mother. She shouldn't have abandoned her son. She shouldn't have. Nothing will justify what she did, not even the "I didn't know people could change" or the "I thought it'd be better" or whatnot. BUT, in canon, when Valka meets Hiccup again, instead of fleeing from him, she reveals the truth, and then spends time with him. She wants to reconnect with her son. So, we know canon's displaying her as a good, likeable character. In reference to her reaction to Hiccup's cutting...**

**I would imagine that self-harming is actually a very rare thing in the Viking world. Gobber's heard of it, of course, and so have a number of people on Berk; but they've never really seen it, not in person. And Valka, from what she's seen of her son, knows Hiccup to be an honest and sincere person, so when she talks to him about it and confronts the problem, she believes he took her words to heart, that he has no more knives, that he stopped the cutting afterward. She truly believed that that was the endgame, that she and Gobber talked sense into him and made everything better - now Gobber knows Hiccup better, and knows that that kid can be a bit of an asshole sometimes, so he knows to be a little more watchful, and keep an eye on him until he appears to be getting better, but since Gobber has a bit of a hard time showing that he cares, it comes across as an abrasive and blatant invasion of Hiccup's privacy and personal room - which it is. It is. But this is just explaining why they're reacting the way they are. **

**And don't forget, Gobber knew to be on the watch because he saw Hiccup's arm - all the cuts. He saw everything, and he knows how far Hiccup took it before anyone noticed. Whilst Valka only ever saw the fresh ones Gobber forced Hiccup to show her. So she assumed he'd only done it once or twice, that that was only the second or so time he ever cut. Valka's knowledge of cutting is actually rather fuzzy - she believes people only actually do it once or twice, which is why she was so against Gobber ransacking Hiccup's room - she believed he was going overboard. **

* * *

I had no breath, no air in my lungs – the shock and the impact from my fall had ripped it all out of me – yet a pained sound still forced its way past my lips. Not quite a yell or a shout, just a wordless exclamation of the sensation racing up my arm.

But I would be lying if I said the pain was too much for me to bear; I had felt, intensely so, the consequences of clumsiness when I was younger. And I had taken more than my fair share of tumbles off of Toothless' back when I was fourteen, not to mention losing a leg soon after. And considering everything else – getting struck by lightning, and whatnot – and this newest injury could hardly be considered painful by my standards.

Despite that, despite me reminding myself that I'd had it worse, it still hurt. I slowly rose to a sitting position, clutching at the area for a minute and trying to work out how bad the injury really was – twisted? Sprained? Broken? – when I became aware of quite a sizable crowd, obviously attracted by my cry, beginning to form around me.

"Chief? Chief, are you alright?"

"Gods, his arm…" breathed somebody else. "I think it's broken."

The people at the back of the crowd must have thought I was still lying prone on the ground; the last they'd seen of me, I had been. So I immediately jumped to my feet, trying my hardest to dispel any worry they might have for me. "No, no. I'm fine. Really. I am. I think it's just twisted." Even now, the pain was dulling to a background ache. I could easily ignore it long enough to finish the rest of my work.

Several Vikings pressed anxiously forward, their faces a universal mask of concern, their hands stretching out toward me.

"But can you move it?"

"How bad does it hurt?"

"Do you need any help?"

"I'm—I tried to interject, to say 'I'm fine', because really, I was, but they just kept talking over me, making it impossible for me to restore order.

"You might want to get Gothi for that…"

I hoped nobody noticed that I backed away slightly at the thought of Gothi looking at my bandaged arms.

"Hate to say it, but I think it's safe to say that it's a little more than twisted."

"N-no," For some reason, I stammered when I spoke, finding myself unconsciously edging away; they were too close, way too close, surrounding me, locking me in, trapping me, cutting off my air… "I'm…it's not—

"Do you think you'll need help looking at it?"

My back hit the wall of the stable, and I found my legs shaking slightly beneath me. They were all talking, and they were all coming at me, and why did it feel like everything was moving so fast? Why did it feel like I was losing control of something that had never really been in my hands anyway? I really needed to speak soon, answer their questions and make it clear I was alright. But for some reason, my mouth wouldn't move.

"I think he'll need help," a woman commented from the crowd, looking at me with…concern? No. That was silly. I was only the chief because I was born into this. It wasn't like anybody really wanted me to be chief anyway. I was surprised they hadn't started celebrating the instant I'd fallen – finally, Hiccup had dropped dead and they could pick a better chief.

The thought made me tighten my lips. Thoughts like these had been my normal for so long that pushing them away now seemed silly and useless.

"Do you need—?"

"I think he'll—

"No, it'll be—

"Fine, so, it's not—

Their faces were spinning and blurring, and I could feel myself slipping and no, the last thing I needed was to make a fool of myself now, after I'd already made them think I was too weak to take care of myself. Maybe that was why they had run. _Little accident-prone Hiccup still needs a million people to keep an eye on him._

"Hiccup, are you sure you don't need anything? If it's only bruised or sprained, ice would help a great deal…"

"You should really think about that one…"

"You'd probably be better off—

"STOP IT!" I didn't recognize my own voice for a second; the words just flew from my lips. It felt like I had no control over them. And I sounded much, much louder than I ordinarily did. I didn't think I'd ever yelled at anyone before – sometimes, I had had to speak sternly when Toothless did something he wasn't supposed to, or I occasionally raised my voice in the more heated arguments with my father, but I had never actually shouted at anybody. My own hatred for being yelled at normally overruled the frustration or anger I felt with people.

Immediately, everyone fell silent; the eyes of the crowd turned from their neighbors to me, and I would have felt uncomfortable, had I not still been so annoyed.

"Just_ stop_. I don't need help, I'm fine. I hurt my arm, okay? It's _not _the end of the world. If I was losing another limb, we might have an issue, but it's just a sprain or something. I'm okay. I don't need anyone looking at it, and I'll grab ice later if it hurts, but for right now, it feels okay."

There was a ringing silence when I'd finished speaking, one I didn't immediately notice; I was too busy trying to move my arm. For some reason, it wouldn't respond to any of my brain's commands. When I looked up again, the crowd had not dispersed. Annoyance crept in again.

"Guys. Really. I know I'm…" _The worst chief ever. A complete and utter screw-up. A failure. Laughable, compared to the men before me. _"…Not anyone's…first choice…as a leader…but if I really am chief, then you need to learn to trust me, and take my word for it."

Murmurs went around the group.

"Guys," I began, but before I could continue, another voice interrupted mine.

"You heard the chief, he's fine! He asked you all to clear off! Go on!"

Maybe it was merely because he sounded so commanding, but for some reason, when Eret spoke, people moved to obey, breaking off into groups of two and three and returning to their previous tasks.

_Thank you, _I mouthed.

The trapper-turned-trainer nodded at me, and turned to speak to the few stragglers. "C'mon, he said he's fine, you heard what—Hiccup!" He broke off, pointing at something above my head, something I couldn't see, and I only had a moment to glance up. And then the hammer that had caused all the trouble, previously forgotten for ten minutes or so, temporarily balanced on the dragon's tooth, slipped from its spot and went down, spinning, end over end, in midair. I had no time to move or run before the stone portion connected with my right shoulder with another crack, louder this time.

Excruciating, white-hot pain lit me up from within, scorching my nerve endings like dragon fire, but this time, instead of crying out, I screamed. I screamed and screamed, my throat ripping as I did, my fingernails scrabbling frantically at every pained part of my body, trying desperately just to make it stop. Little bursts of color took over then, turning my vision hazy and red, exploding in front of my eyes.

Darkness overtook me then.

* * *

Pain was the first thing I registered.

The pain in my arm first, aching and dull; the pain in my throat second, fiery and sore; the pain in my shoulder, sharp and unbearable, throbbing so horribly that it hurt to draw breath. I tried to make each ragged, uneven gasp of agony that I inhaled last for as long as I could.

Wait. Where was I?

I had…I had passed out…right? I had…I had hurt my arm somehow, and then I had yelled at my village…I had gotten hit with that hammer…and then I'd passed out. But then…how was I…well, there was a blanket over me, and I had to wonder how that had happened. It stood to reason that if I had a blanket, I must also be in a bed, and I was too old, too heavy, to be carried anymore. Come to think of it, the last time I'd been carried was at eight.

Voices suddenly cut through the bleary fog serving as my reality, dragging me back up from the endless void of pain and shame.

"Is he awake yet?" Asked one person.

"I don't know," another voice replied – this one so soft and caring that even in my half-conscious state, I registered that they were safe. "Though he's moving more now than he was. He must be almost conscious again."

"I should probably leave," the first voice spoke again, slightly guiltily. "I wouldn't want to overwhelm him…and he could still be mad about…"

"He'll come around," the second voice, the comforting one, interrupted him reassuringly.

There was silence for a bit. Then the second voice talked again.

"I can't believe I've been so blind."

"What do you mean?" I could practically hear the first person raising one eyebrow in curiosity.

"This," the second voice – _Mom_ – responded, and there was so much_ weight_ and _frustration_ and _disappointment_ in that one word that I knew that she was talking about me. "I never knew it was this bad…I only ever saw a couple, Gobber, and…and I assumed…I assumed after we talked about it…"

Gobber?

"I know," he said quietly. "I know. It's worse, Valka…worse than we thought…"

"I don't know what to do," Mom sounded so helpless now, and the force of it hurt me. "Oh, I know I've done wrong by him. I know I can't just come back and expect him to just let me be his mother after twenty years away. But I can't…I can't stand by and watch him do this, either. If I don't do something, I'm…I'm scared it will turn serious."

"Oh, Valka," Gobber replied, in the quietest and gentlest voice I had ever heard him use, "it already has."


End file.
